


Dance of Death

by ArgentRose



Series: Everything Is Permitted (EXO Assassin's Creed AU) [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Assassin!Jongdae, Costume Parties & Masquerades, EXO AC AU, EXO Assassin’s Creed AU, M/M, Rated M Just To Be Safe, Some pretty graphic depictions of violence, Templar!Minseok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-09 00:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20986040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentRose/pseuds/ArgentRose
Summary: Foolhardy assassin Jongdae is contracted to eliminate one of the most dangerous Templars of London. What entails is less of a straightforward assassination and is more of a show. A dance, if you will.





	Dance of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Though not necessarily associated with it, the song I used to write this is called "Dark Waltz Music - Masquerade of the Ghosts" by Fantasy & World Music by the Fiechters.  
Link: https://youtu.be/3rOtFevwHJw  
》I highly recommend listening to it as you read, as I think it really sets the vibe of the fic. Not absolutely necessary, but highly recommended. :)
> 
> ~~~  
🚨 DISCLAIMER: 🚨 This work is not intended to infringe upon the original work/works' copyright. This was made PURELY for entertainment purposes ONLY. All representations of the characters/people featured are not meant to reflect upon any of the Real Life people. Relationships featured are not to be reflected upon the Real Life people. To reiterate, this is for ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY, and just because the work features a specific relationship does NOT mean that I want the featured characters together IN REAL LIFE.

How elegant the evening was, Jongdae thinks. From the shingle rooftops across the way, he could let his cat-like eyes watch as the puffed Victorian dresses and tailed tuxedos mingled about the theatre door. It was a pleasant night--a soft, fresh breeze blew in from the Thames, the stars were dangling high overhead with soft golden hums, and the sky was a lovely sheer mix of black and blue. He checks the position of the moon and clicks his tongue. Regardless of whether he wanted to obey orders or not, he had a task to carry out. He clambers down from the rooftop and meets at the cobblestone street, shoes making a soft clack as he walks towards the theatre. The theatre lights struck the light of the stars with harsh tones of an ominous red and threatening yellow. It towered over the greenscape just before the front doors. Jongdae swallows as he watches the movement of the guards, swaying back and forth as though they were drunk on liquor. A party of patrons were gathered at the door; he could only assume that they would be let in within the next half hour. He needed a way in.

A mask shall suffice as a ticket in, he says. He ducks for the cover of bushes, waiting and ready to steal a mask from an oncoming guard. As though he moved with the speed of light, he quickly incapacitates the guard and drags them into the bush with him. His hand removes the mask from the resting face before he brings the sharp point of his silver blade down to his victim's throat, hand covering the poor soul's lips to hide any noise. He just couldn't have any witnesses, as much as it pained him to take out an innocent. Begrudgingly, Jongdae fits the mask over his face, tying off the string behind his head. He stands and checks himself quickly before making his way towards the crowd. He waits until more gather around him before he shuffles in.

The inside of the theatre does nothing to compliment the face of it. Around him are lavish red velvet draperies and carpet complimenting pristine, dark hardwood floors. Posters illuminated with soft orange lights display the various plays done over the years at the theatre, and the one before showcases what tonight's show would be. He grimaces just a bit. This show has drawn in more patrons in the last month than all the other shows have garnered in a lifetime. Whatever the reason was that made the rich so attracted to this show alone was beyond him. It made him sick, in truth.

Jongdae wasn't interested in mingling among the other guests. No, he needed to find a place to find his target. A good vantage point. A staircase to his left invites him up, so he climbs. More guards are patrolling indoors, offering classy beverages to patrons. One glances at Jongdae and he shakes his head, hand held out to signify that he wasn't interested. The guard eyes him funny, as though to say that every patron never refuses it, but then he shrugs it off and moves on. A silent sigh of relief escapes from him as he continues upwards. He is on the third floor now, the highest point in the theatre, and looks around. There is an open spot near a railing that he goes to. He waits.

A sudden wave of applause sounds from the crowd. He looks around, slightly caught off guard. He quickly turns his attention to the stage. A figure, almost phantom-like, walks onto the stage, face masked, cloak trailing behind him. A gloved hand waves to the crowd, movement elegant like this figure was royalty. Even from so far away, Jongdae could see his lips form a smirk. His hands balled into fists before he realizes where he is and undoes what he had unconsciously done. The fact of the matter is, this was his target. A target that he had been tracking for months, a target that he had pulled entries out of the archives for, a target that he had so desperately tried to play prey for just to get closer to him. Only now, after all these months, was he successful. His target was standing dead center on that stage, just teasing him.

"Welcome, one and all, to tonight's show!" The phantom calls. The crowd cheers and applauds. Jongdae does so, as unpleasant as it made him. "It's a wonderful evening, isn't it, my dear friends? And quite the spectacular crowd tonight, as well! You all have me delighted."

Jongdae frowns.

"Tonight, though, things will be different. Quite different. You see, we have a special guest!"

He freezes.

"And he's hidden amongst this rancorous crowd."

There's chatter amongst the patrons as they look around. Jongdae gulps. His heart suddenly stops beating in his chest and jumps to his throat as he watches as his host's heavy gaze falls to him, a wicked and knowing smirk gracing his face. There's a wink that is sent his way that he might have missed if he dared to turn away.

"I'd like to dedicate tonight's show to him. But let us not dally any longer, my dear friends, for we have a theatre hall to entertain. And should our special guest find himself on my stage, may we delight in a Dance of Death."

The crowd suddenly breaks out in applause as the stage greeter vanishes behind a closed curtain. Jongdae has to grab the railing to prevent himself from falling, knuckles turned white as he struggles to regain his composure. His eyes are still trained on the stage as he gulps for air.

Focus, Jongdae. Focus, he tells himself, letting out the breath he's been holding in his lungs in vain. He shuts his eyes for a brief moment and opens them, looking at his surroundings.

The rafters overhead offer him little leeway to the stage. He does, however, notice an open arch to the left of the stage on the first floor. All he could guess is that it would lead backstage. Perhaps, he thinks, that is where his target is hiding?

With surety in his decision to infiltrate the backstage cast, he turns on his heel and begins to walk. Eyes are cast upon him, and unbeknownst to the assassin, a group of suspicious guards motion in his direction. It does not take long for him to catch wind of their plan to incapacitate him, however; he watches their reflection in the glass case of one of the nearby hanging posters with a trained eye. One is about to strike at him and he dodges the fist that is only mere inches from his nose. He angles himself and brings his fist up, striking the brute square in the jaw. The burly man doubles backwards in pain as Jongdae sends a hard kick in the direction of his gut. His foot meets to man's large belly and sends him flying to his back, grimacing in pain. Quickly, he retrieves his blade and slashes at the other smaller guards' throats before walking over to plant his knife in the brutish guard's chest. They all cease, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling above them. Jongdae dusts himself off and discards their bodies in a nearby corner closet before he continues on his merry way.

Too close, he thinks.

He gently pushes past the crowd of patrons that have gathered near the entrance to the backstage corridor. He took a few glances on either side of him and behind him to check that he was in the clear before slipping inside. A nearby crate of costumes provides him cover from the cast and guards that were patrolling the stage. The gantry above him would allow him access to a high point for an assassination, so he works his way up until he's safely nestled over the stage.

The room, suddenly, smells putridly of a bonfire and green tea. His head is spinning and he closes his eyes for a moment, grip on the wooden beam he is perched on starting to falter. He opens his eyes, vision askew. The world around him was starting to go double, blues and reds clinging to the edges of every object and person. But they are black shadows, unlike the two wafts of burning figures on either side of him, staring down hungrily. He is falling and with a thud, he is on the wooden stage. He scrambles to his feet, looking around wildly. There is a voice, though it is wildly distorted. Then two large shadows rush on stage and he struggles to fight them off. He does so successfully, but not without a few bruises. Another voice, just as distorted as the first. The only words he can make out is "dance of death".

A phantom appears on stage wielding a very elegant but definitely deadly cane sword. Jongdae manages to dodge a few strikes while swiping back with his own blade. Something overwhelms him, something that brings him to his knees. A dizzy spell is turning the room three-sixty. His eyes shut again as a very loud, very malicious laugh resonates all around him.

"Color me impressed, my dear assassin. To track me down so desperately and then wind up joining me on stage for our final dance. Why, I must say that I'm terribly flattered."

Jongdae manages to get a grunt out before he could feel bile rising in his throat. It seers it and he spits the vile acid out, coughing after the wicked burn has left his mouth. His eyesight begins to focus again and the first sight they cast themselves upon is his attacker. Now that he had joined his opponent on stage, he was granted a much better look at his would-be "partner" for their "final act."

His Phantom had donned an ornate black and red mask with ruby engravings. He wore a long, black and crimson cloak with a rather appealing pitched vest and slacks over a bright red dress shirt. If he had been paying less attention, he would have missed the black shoe that was being kicked in his direction.

Jongdae rolls aside, careful not to slip on his recent accident. He clambers to his feet, pulling out the silver blade that was hidden inside the sleeve of his coat.

The two opponents dance circles around each other, waiting until the other was desperate enough to strike so that they would block with a counter.

"I do wish you cared to introduce yourself to our guests, my dear assassin. It is common performance etiquette after all."

"You're asking for quite a lot, my friend, but unfortunately for you, I'm not someone who will so easily buy into your sick games."

The laugh that tears sickeningly through the room makes Jongdae's stomach turn. Before he could do anything, he hurls over and vomits into the stage again. Disgustingly, the crowd laughs and jeers as if this was all an act.

And Jongdae can easily tell you that it wasn't.

He felt more sick than he ever had. He isn’t sure why. Was it the smell of the bonfire and green tea, two scents that were usually quite pleasant alone? Two scents that should be incredibly harmless?

His vision blurs again and beside his ruby phantom is another figure. An assassin, it seemed like, but they weren't attacking his opponent. No, the assassin was attacking him!

Jongdae manages to sidestep a strike, but trips when he tries to roll away from his host's attack. Something pierces his armor, digs uncomfortably into his abdomen. Like a sharp knife buried in thin flesh and muscle. He withholds the scream that so desperately claws at his throat; he would not give the satisfaction of a strike to the ruby phantom. The blade withdraws and he audibly gasps when the warm pool of blood begins to coat his glove. It smelled of copper, and he tried not to vomit again when he noticed how his opponent's pupils dilated. God, did he feel sick.

"What seems to be the problem, my dear assassin?" The ruby phantom walks up to him, hand raising to hold his chin.

Jongdae feels very exposed, having someone so close to him. Especially if it was the person he had been working day and night to track. His throat feels exposed, and he works a little but harder to hide the bob of his Adam's apple when he gulps.

"You know, you're quite beautiful," the phantom drawls. A coy smirk upturns the corners of his lips when he can see how the assassin's lips part to gasp and the tips of his ears dust a sudden red. "The way your lips turn upwards like a kitten's. The way your body reacts to my touch. If I were quite gracious, I could assume that you fancy me."

Jongdae scoffs. "As if."

"It's really quite shameful how you choose to hide it." Jongdae stares at the smirk that transforms into an all-knowing grin. He has to resist the temptation to flee when the hand that holds his chin suddenly flies up and pulls off his mask. That's when he backs away, pulling his hood over in one quick swoop. "Just like how shameful it is that you and your little assassin group choose to hide beneath London's streets."

Enough is enough, Jongdae settles. He runs forward, much to the chagrin of his wound, and takes a leap of faith as he maneuvers his blade to strike. A hand immediately grabs his wrist, twists his arm until Jongdae is finally screaming, and pins him to the floor. He forgot about the crowd watching them with eager eyes; the minute they cheer at their host's successful maneuver, Jongdae remembers vividly where he is. He remembers how many people are in the room. And suddenly, he's very on edge about how many people now know that there are assassins in the city. He grimaces and nearly whimpers when he felt his arm being pulled. His blade is wrenched from his grasp.

"This is such a gorgeous blade, my dear assassin. Such fine craftsmanship. I would hate to have to use it on you, though."

Jongdae doesn't care to muster a response. He felt weak and tired. The room was spinning around him and he felt very lightheaded. Probably all caused by the blood loss. And overexertion. Something acidic pulls from his stomach; in no time flat, he's vomiting again. He struggles to use whatever strength he could muster to pry himself from the strong grip on his arm, but even moving felt like a chore. He only manages to flip himself onto his back with his arm still pulled at a funny angle. How it wasn't broken is beyond him.

"That's quite a cute move, assassin, but you've only just undone yourself."

He did? Then he realizes what happened.  _ Shit _ .

The hood falls flat into the floor, his face just slightly exposed. From his peripherals, he could see the crowd straining to get a solid look at him. Exposure won't do, Jongdae thinks. But little does his opponent know that he is also just as exposed--with a kick, Jongdae managed to have his foot meet the top of his opponent's head. The plastic from the mask cracks, and Jongdae uses his free arm to loop around the phantom's neck. He flips them until his opponent lie just mere inches from his puddle of bile. The crowd gasps as they look at their host, and the assassin takes the time to pull his hood back over.

"That was good," the host coughs. When his eyes meet Jongdae’s, there's this predatory glint in them. He turns the assassin's silver blade in his grip, his frown turned upwards into a mad smile that sent chills down his opponent’s spine. "But not good enough."

He rushes forward, silver blade raised and poised to strike. Jongdae manages to dodge a few angry swipes, but misses one and raises his arms to shield himself. The blade cuts easily across his forearm like a table knife through butter. He hisses as small droplets of blood begins to poor from the gash. Then the same blade buries into his shoulder, and he has to bite down hard on his tongue to stop himself from screaming. He shoves the ruby phantom away and tears the blade from his shoulder, trying desperately not to howl as he does.

"This really is quite the show, but I do need to call for some stagehands to clean."

There's a whistle before the Templar's goons rush into the stage. Jongdae huffs before he works to clear the crowded stage. First he brings his leg up to kick one of the goon's legs. Then he sinks his blade into said fallen man's chest, grimacing as he cries out before stilling. He ducks an incoming strike and shoots his arm back to bury the blade in his attacker's abdomen. The man falls with nothing more than a choked gurgle.

It does not take long before the stage is waterlogged with puddles of blood and the walls streaked with red. The metallic smell of the substance surrounding him quickly rose to fill the room. He spins one-eighty, looking around wildly for any sight of his target. And there he was--on the banister. Half of his mask is missing from his face, and Jongdae’s eyes trail ever downwards to his gloved hand, where the other half dangled. When it drops, he races forward and dives for it; the elegant apparel falls right into his hands. He looks back up again, staring at imposing cat eyes and a malicious smirk.

“As wonderful as this show has been, that is all the time we have for tonight, folks!” The phantom announces a little too gleefully. His eyes are back on Jongdae once more, and he pulls out a match. As the assassin’s eyes widen, his smirk does as well and turned into a horrifying grin. “My sweet assassin, would you care to show our guests to the door?”

The match drops right before Jongdae, the flame quickly catching onto the slick oil that was not present before. A fire too bright for Jongdae’s eyes raged and consumed, encircling him. The smoke is quick to catch up to his nostrils, leaving him blind and gasping for air. He coughs and spluttered, trying to find a clearing to free himself. There are screams behind him, and against all instincts, he dashes through the flames, past the slick of blood, and off the stage.

He rolls three times before his back makes contact with a fallen table. When he clambers to his feet, he could see the guise of the Templar sweep across the floor in front of him. Jongdae reaches out, desperate to grab a hold of something of his target, but there is nothing. An evil laugh fills the room, mocking him at every wake as he tries to get a feel for his surroundings.

“It has been an honor, my sweet assassin, but until we meet again…”

“No!” Jongdae screams. He chokes again. “I won’t let you get away!”

Another laugh, this time it is more chilling. “Do take care of that gorgeous face, won’t you? I’d hate to see my prize destroyed.”

The shadow of a wooden beam loomed overhead, prompting him to lunge quickly before it could crush him. A loud crash told him enough, and he had to bolt. Gray smoke stacks had engulfed the entirety of the theatre. Bright orange blazes contrasted against the dark plumes. There was a narrow opening in front of him that he makes a break for.

Each step forward seemed to have caused the building to collapse even further. Now, he was exerting every bit of energy that he could muster to push past and vault over fallen obstacles. Blood continued to seep from his wounds and the more he pushed himself, the more lightheaded he became. He had to make it--had to report back to the Order.

With his rationed strength, he pushes the heavy doors of the theatre open and forces himself outside into the cold of the night. There are shouts from various officers and firefighters that demand that he move out. Someone drags him from the crowds as he tries to consume the polluted air that surrounded him.

Then he felt a pair of lips against his, though it is far too dark for him to know who it is. The feeling is foreign but somehow familiar. Before he could tell up from down and have complete control of himself once again, it is too late for him to figure out whomever it was that had kissed him. They were quick and like an apparition, vanished without a trace.

Jongdae clutches at the plastic mask in his hand, staring at it. The stupid thing mocked him. It was a message that spoke too loudly, taunted him and told him that tonight, he had not eliminated his target. Like all of his other attempts, they managed to get away. Like all of his other attempts, he had failed. And like all of his other attempts, he had taken one step forward and two steps back. It was tempting to toss the mask aside. Getting rid of what plagued him would have allowed him some form of sanctuary.

But no; as grim a grim reminder as it may be, it still served as a message that wasn’t something of complete loss. He still had a target to hunt, still had someone to eliminate.

With affirmation, he squared his shoulders and took off for the rooftops. He would head back to base. He would heal and train harder. He would better himself. Become faster. Become stronger.

Jongdae’s feline lips curled upwards evermore until he sported a satisfied grin. “This isn’t over yet, Xiumin. The next time we meet, I will be ready. And I will take you down.”

To the rooftops on the easternmost side of London, close to the Thames, there was a hooded figure sitting leisurely against a brick chimney. In his hand was half of an elegant mask that he twirled on occasion. He, too, wore a grin that resembled that of a Cheshire Cat. He chuckles to himself. “And I look forward to it, my dear assassin."

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely love the Assassin's Creed franchise, and while playing Syndicate, I had imagined this scene with XiuChen (is that a surprise though?), so to say I was simply inspired by the game is quite the understatement haha. And then I heard the song "Dark Waltz Music - Masquerade of the Ghosts" by Fantasy & World Music by the Fiechters, and immediately, I had to write it.
> 
> Feel free to let me know your thoughts! I'd love to hear what you have to say. Thank you for taking the time to read! :)


End file.
